


Hey Sugar

by LadyAJ_13



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: 1940s, Alternate Universe, F/M, Gay Bucky Barnes, No Steve Rogers, Peggy is American, Peggy/Bucky friendship, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 19:48:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6920599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAJ_13/pseuds/LadyAJ_13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Hey sugar, you rationed?”</p>
<p>She twists just in time to see a familiar, dark-haired shape land on the bar stool next to her. She motions to the bartender for another bourbon. “Barnes,” she says in greeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey Sugar

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little strange, so a bit of background. Its set in the 1940s, with Peggy and Bucky having grown up together in Brooklyn. There is no Steve Rogers - perhaps he died young, or perhaps they just haven't crossed paths. 
> 
> As children Peggy and Bucky were acquaintances, but as teenagers Bucky revealed to Peggy something he couldn't tell anyone else. Ever since, they've been allies of a sort. The story starts with them both grown up - I hope it makes sense! I was planning to write the earlier scenes but they wouldn't come and I actually quite like the story as it stands.

“Hey sugar, you rationed?”

She twists just in time to see a familiar, dark-haired shape land on the bar stool next to her. She motions to the bartender for another bourbon. “Barnes,” she says in greeting.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

“Have you got anything to say that isn't a cliché?”

“Always, honey, always. But what's a dame like you doing out on a night like this?”

“Drop the act Bucky,” she says tiredly, sliding the drink the bartender sets down over to him. It is a terrible night. The rain isn't heavy, but its persistent, and her stockings still haven't dried out properly, let alone her dress. “Just...” she waves a hand around half-heartedly while Bucky drains his drink.

“Well too bad,” he answers, reading between the lines as always. “Time to dance?”

She nods, takes his hand, and the two of them take to the dance floor. It's roomier than usual, the rain having put off everyone but the most die-hard of good time seekers. He takes the opportunity to swirl and dip her and by the time the song ends, she's smiling. A slower one starts up and he gathers her up in his arms. “So are you going to tell me what's wrong yet?”

She groans and lets her head fall slightly, resting against his chest. It feels safe. “My mother has had me out on a date every night this week.”

“Wined and dined every evening? Sounds terrible.”

“It was with these guys.”

“What went wrong?”

And that's the thing with Bucky. They don't often see each other, but somehow every time they do its easy. She finds herself spilling every story accumulated over the last five nights, finally seeing the funny side when she feels Bucky's chuckles through his chest. “This last one – I was trying to talk to him about this whole Europe thing – he didn't even know what Belgium was. I swear, as if I could live a life with such a-”

“-doofus,” he finishes for her with a grin. It's kinder than what she'd been thinking, and the twinkle in his eye lets her know he realises that. The song ends, and without discussing it they head back to their seats at the bar. Bucky motions for another couple of drinks. “So if you've been out every night what are you doing out now?”

She swirls the ice around in the bourbon set before her. “I guess I figured if that was the best my mother could do, maybe I should give it a go myself.”

“I guess I should go then-” She grabs his arm as he starts to rise, and he sits back on the stool. “My devilishly handsome features will be scaring off every potential suitor,” he adds. It's probably true. There's no arguing that Bucky Barnes is an attractive man, but there's also an edge of darkness to his appeal. Luckily, she knows where that comes from.

“I don't care. Drinks with a friend sounds like a better deal right now.”

 

–

It's several months before they meet again, and by coincidence, its in the same dance hall. It's a livelier night tonight, and Peggy has been swung around by her fair share of suitors. She's caught sight of Bucky numerous times as they passed by each other, but he's been busy with every girl in the place, it seems. She gathers her purse, waves goodbye to Angie, and walks right into him.

“Not heading out already, sugar?”

“Do you have to call me that?”

“Buy you a drink to make up for it?” She scowls, but they both know she'll give in. Peggy sets her purse back down while Bucky weaves his way across the hall to the bar. She checks her lipstick until he returns. He's sweaty, his hair clumping together slightly.

“Good night?” she asks with a smirk.

“All the better for bumping into you.” He takes a long swallow of liquor. “It's been too long Pegs. Thought you'd found a man, gone all housewife on me.”

She laughs at that. “As if you wouldn't have heard if that had happened.” He shrugs. “Bad timing I guess, that's all.”

“So you're still on the market?” She is, but she doesn't like the cattle connotation.

“Yes.”

There were layers of meaning in that one word, and from Bucky's quizzical look he received at least some of them. “How come no one who takes me out knows me as well as you do?” She asks. It's a genuine question. She's tired.

“Maybe you don't let them. You're not exactly an open book.”

“Maybe not, but you can still read me.”

“I'm safe enough that you've let me in the same room. All these other bozos are peering through a window or something.” The metaphor is running away with them, and she smiles, dimples showing. He's probably right.

“I'm not sure I want anyone in the same room?”

“Except me?”

“I can't seem to find a lock you can't break, Barnes.”

“It's my winning personality.” It is. If it wasn't for – well, that, she'd let herself fall for Bucky. As it is- “And my perfect face.”

“Oh, shut up!” She shoves him lightly, and he knocks her shoulder as he sways back in.

“Are you okay, Pegs?”

“What if I don't find anyone?”

“Then you carry on being the knockout you are. Nothing has to change.”

 

–

Of course things have to change. Everything always changes eventually.

 

–

Brian is nice. He's a plain man, of simple tastes, but she knows he's steady and only a couple of years older than her. He's not going to hit her, and he'll be there for their children. She's seen him with his nephews, throwing a ball around. He's a good choice. A good catch.

He has a job, a decent one, and although he's going off to war it will be waiting for him when he comes back, because its the family company. They'll be set for life.

She has the ring, but they decide to put the wedding off until he's home safe. He'll only be gone a few months, probably – once they get involved this war will be as good as won, that's what everyone says. Everyone who doesn’t read the papers properly, anyway. They're all gloss and propaganda on top, but Peggy's always had a critical eye, and there are undertones that make her stomach cramp.

She doesn't go out much any more. Her mother is systematically teaching her how to cook every meal she knows, how to keep house, and the basics of budgeting. Its tiresome, but its also a nice change from the nagging about finding a man. She spends her days housekeeping, her nights writing letters. She likes to make sure Brian will have one from her every day, and everyone thinks she's so sweet. She doesn't tell them she's also writing to Bucky – that those letters are less sugar and more spice, more snark. She doesn't tell them how much easier those words come to her pen than “I love you, I miss you, keep fighting for me”.

 

–

Her first feeling upon reading the telegram is relief – the second is guilt so strong it makes her heave. Her mother fusses, takes her tears for grief and babies her through the night.

 

–

It's a kind of freedom, being a war widow (of sorts). Her mother says nothing now about finding a man, although presumably that won't last for ever. The world celebrates around her as the war is won, and she goes dancing with Angie – she's allowed, on that day, to tuck her 'grief' into a corner.

The men start to return, though, and somehow she'd got used to this female world that is now splintering around her. She gives up her job as factory manager – she always knew she would, and of course she's happy that Bob came back – and steps back onto the production line, but its as unfulfilling as it ever was. She doesn't go out at night much any more. She's getting a bit old for it, truth be told, and it wouldn't be seemly with Brian gone only nine months.

She's tucked up back at home instead; an old married woman without the marriage, without the children, just her and mother in their flat, listening to the wireless and knitting. He mother used to knit baby clothes. She'd put some away and give others to neighbours and friends as and when the need arose. Now she knits blankets. Neither of them mention it.

There's a knock at the door.

Peggy glances at her mother, mostly buried under a large brown throw she keeps adding more and more rows to, and stands, setting aside her half-finished cardigan. “I'll get it.”

“If its Mrs Peters, her casserole dish is in the kitchen.”

It's not Mrs Peters.

“Alright sugar?”

She wants to throw her arms around him, but her mother could emerge from her brown cocoon any minute. “Bucky?” she whispers, and he grins, a warm hand landing on her shoulder.

“Can you get out for a few minutes?” She nods, scurries back into the sitting room and slips on her shoes.

“It's a friend, mother, we're just going to go out for a quick catchup. I haven't seen her in months.” It's sort of the truth. Except its a he and its been years. God. How has it been years?

“Where-”

“I'll be back in an hour or two, I promise.” She ducks, dropping a kiss to her mother's cheek, and then sweeps out of the apartment grabbing her coat and purse on the way. Her heart is beating, she realises, thudding, and this is the fastest she's moved in weeks.

They take the steps down to ground level two at a time, like teenagers released from responsibility. Bucky doesn't turn right, towards the bars and clubs, but instead takes her hand and tugs her left. They enter a diner, flopping into a booth. “Order whatever you want,” he orders. “The army pays decently, I can treat.” She orders a burger, fries, and a strawberry milkshake. “Not exactly date food sugar,” he remarks.

“Well this ain't exactly a date, is it?”

“You're letting your grammar get sloppy darling, they'll say I'm a bad influence on you.”

“They already do Barnes – that ship has sailed.”

“This kind of is a date.”

She knows that's a lie. She _knows_ it, and she knows why. But he's fiddling with the cutlery on the tables and not looking her in the eye and maybe he can always read her, but she's pretty fluent in Barnesese as well. He's not got his conning face on.

Their food arrives, and he picks at his sandwich. She shoves several fries in her mouth at once – something she'd never do on a date – to give herself an excuse for not answering.

“Well?”

“Well what?” she explodes in an angry whisper. “You can't just say that and then stop with no explanation.”

“I didn't expect to survive the war.” He swirls his straw in his Coke, and Peggy watches as bubbles cling to it then pop. “It's terrible. It's not honour, or glory. Its mud and blood. It's hell. And most dames won't ever know that, because their guys won't ever tell them.” He looks up at her without moving his head. He's looking through his lashes and she remembers that look from before, but now it doesn’t look flirty; it looks broken.

She nods. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispers.

“You're the only one I could tell. And I know-” he stops himself, glances around the nearly empty diner. “There are reasons why you wouldn't want me.” It's not what he was going to say, but she nods again. She understands. “But I want you. You're the only person I could imagine being next to, forty years from now.”

“Is this a proposal?” Its stark, but they've always been honest with each other.

“If you want it to be.” He smiles, and there's glimmers of the old Bucky in there but its overlaid with tiredness. “If you don't, its an old friend talking nonsense.” He takes a bite of his sandwich, and she leans back in her chair, thinking.

“There isn't anyone else.”

“Isn't for me either, sugar.” She smiles at the old nickname.

“And would there be...” she trails of, doesn't know quite how to ask something so intimate, especially under the strip lighting with the smell of fry oil in the air.

“Children?” She nods. It wasn't exactly her question, but its all tied together. “If you want them. We could make it work.”

“Do you want them?” Because she doesn't want this to trap either of them into something they don't want. She doesn't want a broken man to tie himself down because its the only option he has.

“You know I do, Pegs.” And then she remembers – conversations, long ago. Games in the streets and picnics in the park. He's always been good with his sisters' kids. She nods.

“Okay then.”

“Okay? Like, okay okay?”

She laughs, then laughs harder at his brightening expression. “Yes, okay. Let's do it.”

 

–

Their wedding is small, but happy. There are a few of Bucky's regiment in attendance, Angie, her mother, and Bucky's sisters. She throws the bouquet and Angie catches it, before dropping it in surprise. They dance together, like they have done so many times before. Later on, her mother packs her bags for her before they move into their own little house in the suburbs, and when she opens it she only has one change of stockings but a stockpile of twenty little knitted onesies in rainbow colours.

It's not perfect. They argue about the children, like all parents do, and Peggy bullies Bucky until he does his fair share of the cleaning and cooking. Sometimes he disappears for long walks and doesn't return until its well past dark and his dinner is cold and congealed on the plate. But then sometimes they find their eyes wandering when an attractive man walks by, and they laugh about it together. They watch their children grow – a little girl with a shock of dark hair, and a little boy with all the attitude Peggy no longer has to keep hidden – and they love them for all their faults because they recognise where they came from.

There are worse things, she supposes, than being married to your best friend.


End file.
